


nate/wade one-offs

by ascii



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Cable and Deadpool: Split Second Infinite Comic, Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:03:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascii/pseuds/ascii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i write rly gay fics abt wade wilson and nathan summers a lot, yet none of them anything to do with each other, So</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cant catch me gay thoughts.pdf

Cable and Wade were sitting on a rooftop. Wade thought it was funny how there was a time when Nate was king of the world, and Wade was the one having mental breakdowns, it was almost _funny_ how backwards things were, but neither of them were laughing.

Wade wanted to ask how it felt to be at the bottom, to be _like him_ , without anyone cheering you on. He wanted so _badly_ to rub it in Nate's face, _how does it feel to be human, you bastard, have fun rotting with the rest of us._ Then he realized it wasn't as funny as he thought it was, and for once, stopped himself from saying something he shouldn't have.

He wondered if Nate was silently commending him, if he was still proud of Wade, even if he wouldn't say it. He wondered if Nate still had that moral code Wade hated and envied—but if he did, he had morality now, too, he was just like everyone else, and Wade knew he couldn't stand that; couldn't stand knowing he wasn't the solution anymore, that he wasn't the center of attention.

Wade couldn't talk about attention, though. He couldn't say a word, not when he'd always been so desperate for it, still so desperate that he plastered his name on every bit of Avengers merchandising he could get his hands on. If Nate had a messiah-complex, it was because he was, you know, _a fucking messiah._ He was raised to be the center of attention, and he was still outgrowing it. Going toe-to-toe with _Apocalypse_ would make anyone self-centered.

That wasn't the Nate that sat next to him, though. Sure, it was the same guy, the same asshole who'd promised he could save the world, but he was so broken, so pathetic and alone that it wasn't funny, and if Wade couldn't laugh at his problems, he didn't know what to do with them.

_No luck for Providence now, huh? No Nathan Summer's New World 2.0, no time-traveling telepath to feel the world's pain for them. The legendary Nate Summers is just a sad old man with a toy gun._

Wade looked at Nate. He looked tired, but his eyes were the same color as the sky, a pretty midday blue.  _Old man with a toy gun can still say my name like it's poetry._ Wade thought.  _Still reminds me of when I believed in him._

Nate caught him staring, and looked slightly sad. He assumed the worst. (That was built into him, he grew up in a world where the worst was always expected.) “What is it, Wade?” Nate said.

“Nothing.” Wade said. “You're just a lot older now.”

Nate opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. Silence hung in the air for a moment. “Yeah.” Nate said.

Wade didn't want to believe that he was supposed to be the strong one, that he'd  _grown up_ , and while Nate had grown with him, he'd gone down, not up. Wade didn't want to be the strong one—he was already doing that for everyone else, he didn't want to do that for Nate too, he couldn't, because they were past lying to each other. 

Wade looked at Nate for a split second. He didn't want to be the bigger person for Nate, but he would be, because Nate had more than earned it.

Wade cracked a joke about a pedestrian's yoga pants and watched Nate crack a smile.  _This is okay,_ he thought.  _This is worth it._

 


	2. gay chicken.pdf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dont look at me

When Wade and Nate kissed for the first time, they were both scared, standing in the dark after hours and hoping no one would catch them. Nate was gentle, and discreet, and he tasted like silver.

Wade, of course, melted into him, so desperate for the attention, so stupid in love, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself. He wanted to trust Nate more than anything, so he did, even if he knew it'd end badly.

He laid his hand on the back of Nate's neck, and tried to push Nate into the kiss. It didn't work, of course, because Nate was the one with the metal arm and the conscience. He didn't stop kissing Wade, though. He wrapped his arms around Wade's back, and Wade shut up for once in his life.

Wade could feel age on Nate's lips, and experience, too, and a gentle kindness Wade wasn't used to. Wade had been kissed before, rough and passionate by women who were obsessed with him, and hesitant by ones who were afraid of him, deep deep down. Never gentle. Never a nice balance between the lips and the teeth, not biting but just nipping, gently, and running a tongue along Wade's lips, without ever shoving it down his throat.

Wade wrapped his arms around Nate's neck again, just holding on to him this time, clinging for dear life, hoping this wouldn't end. Hoping that Nate wouldn't tear away from him and mumble that this had been a mistake, looking disgusted and promising it wasn't about Wade's skin, even if they both knew it was.

Nate stopped, and Wade immediately blamed himself. Nate stared at the ground, and moved his hand from Wade's cheek to his shoulder. Wade kept his arms around Nate's neck, even though he knew it looked pathetic, even though he knew this was about to hurt.

Wade tried not to look scared. “Cat got your tongue, Summers?” He said. “If it does, it'll have to fight me for it.”

“I can't do this, Wade.” Nate said. Wade felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. “I've _literally_ got the world on my shoulders.I'm too busy for you, and I'm sure you're too busy for me, too. Whatever's happening here needs to stop now.”

“Don't.” Wade whispered. “Don't say that now, c'mon Nate--”

Nate grabbed Wade's hands and moved them off of his neck. There it was, the moment where Nate said no, and Wade felt like an idiot, like the clingy psychopath everyone said he was.

“Wade.” Nate said, in a voice that was so low it sounded like a hum, and everything Wade wanted. “I'm not saying no to  _us_ , just to  _this_ . I need you to understand that.”

Wade stepped away from Nate. “Are you doing this because it's what you want, or because it's what you think is best?”

“Wade--”

“Answer me, Cable.”

Nate shivered when Wade used his alias. Wade wasn't talking to Nate, the man who he trusted and believed in, who he'd do (and had done) anything for—he was talking to Cable, the soldier out of time who had no kindness in him, no time to.

“What I want isn't important, Wade.”

Wade stared at the floor. “Of course not.” He said. He walked away, leaving them both feeling used, like a cheap piece of plastic.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya so obviously this takes place somewhere in cable & dp   
> listen. split second fic is coming. i prom ise


	3. nate more like GAYte.pdf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas eve fuckchildren, and a belated happy hanukkah, and for those of you celebrating eid and ramadan, see you in july i guess,  
> anyways as if wade toting nate around in split second #4 wasn't gay enough i was like  
> i bet nate had a lot of gay thoughts while he was Fucking Dying

Nate stepped into the portal. (But it wasn't that easy, and it wasn't that painless.) His head was splitting. Everything he had and hadn't done was folding in on him, all the timesliding, spreading himself too thin, making too many hard decisions.

He watched it all blend together, and fall apart—his very _existence_ caught in a loop, a million iterations of him, unsure of whether or not they were _there_ in the first place. He wasn't anyone, he was everyone and no one at all, he was, they were--

“ _Folding in on themselves--_ ”

There were so many, _so many_ \--

“So many _me's_ \--”

His head hurt. Wade was on his left (in this timeline, in this universe, Wade was on his left) and Wade's hands were gentle, or trying to be, but everything was so bright and so _loud_ regardless. It'd been sunny out, he could remember that from the previous timeslide--but now it was just blaring, so up close and personal, but so far away, just one of a million universes that was weaving through his head.

Wade was saying something. _Wade_ \--Wade was familiar, like when you found something you'd lost a long time ago, so long ago that you'd forgotten you were looking for it. He was everywhere, woven into Nate's life, following after him, so much more _important_ than he thought he was. In every timeline there was _Wade_ , and he didn't know why, but he couldn't question it just then.

Wade looked afraid. Nate didn't like that. He couldn't tell much else—his gun was slipping out of his hands, was he shaking? He was shaking, he was scaring Wade. If only he could reach out, if only he could _tell_ him what he needed, because it was all so clear then, like getting the answers to a test and seeing how _stupid_ you'd been--

“A link between the past and the future, _tangled into a knot_ \--”

Wade didn't nod at that, he didn't agree or say he understood, and Nate knew that was bad, he knew he'd screwed it up somehow. If only he could make Wade _understand_ \--

\--But someone was on their tail, and Wade was arguing with him, so loudly that Nate could hear it in every timeline, drilling into his brain.

_Hope, Stryfe,_ _**Wade—** _

He had to tell Wade, explain himself, explain—

“Tangled into knots...”

Come on, keep going, don't give up you _sad old man_ —

“Reach in . . .”

And, And . . .

“And untangle . . .”

(Everything, everyone, put them first, put her first, she's the _messiah_ —)

“Myself . . .”

(No shut up Nate you're not important don't you _know—_ )

Wade was fighting someone. Nate was hit with a wave of memories, all the _fighting_ he'd done, and at the center of them all, he saw himself, suspended, hanging, with little bits of _Wade Wilson_ in each iteration of himself.

He relived everything, and it wasn't like those sweet scenes from the movies, with an old man on his death bed (old man with a toy gun, _old man with a_ _toy gun_ ) remembering the good old days—it was searing, because his life _hurt_ , every moment of it spent shouldering something, every moment spent _fighting_ , being a good little soldier and doing what they'd told him to.

“Pluck at the timelines—“

Hold yourself together—

“See the threads come undone . . .”

 _No,_ that's not supposed to—

Hope was holding his hand, Domino was kissing him lightly

— _we weren't supposed to let them down._

Then Wade asked him something, but he wasn't there to answer, and he relayed the part of his life he was trapped in, because it was all he could bring himself to say--

“Tetherblood has missed the rendezvous...”

Wade said something reassuring, and Nate felt a little better.

Then Wade was carrying him on his back, and the streets here were so bright, and Nate thought he could see the ghosts of everyone he'd ever let down. He tried to stop thinking. He tried not to take himself anywhere but _there_ , bobbing on that beautiful idiot's back. (It worked, but only partially so.)

There was a picture of a woman on a building. She looked familiar, and pretty, too pretty to be real. Purple woman. Wade. Don't think, _don't think._

Maybe he could talk to Wade. Start with little words, work up to something bigger and— _he held his daughter in his arms, until she was too big to fit, and she was running from him, and he couldn't keep up, no matter how hard he tried_ — _talk_ to Wade, tell him _something_.

“Shiklah.” He said. The purple woman. Her name had been Shiklah.

Wade changed directions when Nate said that, and Nate felt a little better. Progress was being made. The mission would continue (of course that's all he cared about, his brain tearing itself out of reality and he was concerned about the _mission_ ) just fine, he'd make sure it did.

Nate realized he'd seen this before, with the roles reversed—Wade was hurting, depressed, obviously so. Nate tried to help him. He screwed things up instead. Drove them further apart. Said things he shouldn't have. Now he felt terrible, because here he was, hurting, depressed, and Wade was helping him, and doing a better job of it.

When he spoke next, it was something stupid. “Why's my eye flashing on that side now?” He said, shivering. Wade ignored him.

Yeah. The situation was _definitely_ reversed. Nate wondered if this was how Wade felt—watching your mind tear itself up and put itself back together, trying to say what you meant and coming up with a dumbed-down version, because that was all you could muster over the sound of your own head.

Nate felt really, really terrible.

Then they were somewhere loud again. “Smells like wet shoulder pads in here.” Nate said. It seemed like the right thing to say, even if he knew it wasn't appropriate, even if he had a million other things on his mind, and _what the room smelled like_ was at the bottom of the list—but it was the only thing he could pick out from this timeline, the only detail he could keep track of amidst his countless other realities.

The purple woman— _Shiklah_ , Shiklah was talking to Wade. Wade loved her. Nate didn't like that, but he didn't know why. He was fighting Apocalypse in another timeline, fighting his brother, fighting _with_ his father—but he didn't like the woman Wade was talking to, because Wade loved her, more than he'd loved anyone in awhile.

(Nate knew that was selfish. One more thing to hate about himself.)

Then he was sitting next to Wade on a rooftop, and trying to get a handle on his words. His head still hurt. He was pretty sure nothing he was saying made any sense, even if it fit perfectly into all the timelines running through his head.

Their current problem was obvious, really. All his messing around in the timeline had caused a rift of some kind, but nothing they couldn't fix. If he'd been _with_ Wade (really with him, not with him and a million other iterations of himself) he could've explained it so _easily_ , but of course it wasn't going to be that simple, because nothing ever is.

“Have to merge them . . .” He started. Wade didn't understand, didn't even listen, and Nate felt helpless again. “Pull the strings in my head apart . . .” He said, a little sadder than he meant to.

“Then weave them back together . . .” That was really what this came down to, though—all the loose ends in his head, almost literally spread across space and time, as his life was. Wade would have to find his string, and knit him back together.

If only he could _explain_ that.

Wade turned to him, and looked _down_ on him, like he was a _crazy person_ , and he was, but he didn't want anyone to make him feel that way—and Nate wanted to cry, because _this was exactly how Wade felt_ , this was how he'd felt all along.

He finally _realized_ that he couldn't be the savior this time—

it was funny,

like a stupid reference Wade had said once—

when they were on the top of the world—

and felt like they were at the bottom—

and Wade Wilson was still there

forwards in time,

then back again,

Apocalypse raised him

Apocalypse raised his clone

The world ended

It didn't

T.O. mesh on the left

T.O. mesh on the right

And in every universe, Wade Wilson was there

And Nate realized that string was not an item, but a _person._

 


	4. wade is a 13 year old boy.pdf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is nsfw uh  
> based off the line "hello mr. stiffy" from split second 4 because  
> oh my god wade literally popped a boner for cable w/ cap's sheild

Wade was on a beach somewhere. He didn't question how or why, and he didn't see why he should. He was almost certain this was a dream. He didn't care.

Nate was there. He didn't have a shirt on, and since Wade had never actually seen him without a shirt, his mind improvised for him: Nate's body was smooth, but gritty, too, with scars all along his chest. (Wade loved the imperfections—they made him less insecure about his own.)

Then Nate was kissing him, and smiling into it, all smug and authoritative, just like Wade liked. They weren't on a beach anymore—they weren't anywhere, but Wade didn't question it. It made complete sense to him, at the time, and he was so sure this was a dream that he tried desperately not to wake up.

He tried to beg Nate on, but he couldn't, and then he knew it was _definitely_ a dream—because for whatever reason, his dreams were the only place he couldn't talk. Maybe it was because he _always_ knew when he was dreaming, that it was just him, that he didn't have anyone to talk _to_ , anyone to impress. (He'd been told he spoke out loud in his sleep a lot, though. That didn't surprise him.)

Then Wade realized he was having a sex dream about Nate, and decided to make the most of it. Nate was winking and grabbing when he kissed Wade, like a badly written porno, and Wade loved it. He was being desperate and clingy, and it was okay just then, because this was a dream, and no one would care if he wanted Nate to fuck his brains out.

Dream sex was messy, jumping from one place to the next, one desire to the other, as his brain tried to pinpoint what he wanted. He started with cock sucking, with Nate's lips sliding up and down his shaft and making him feel like he was about to _pop_ —then suddenly Nate was fucking him senseless, and he knew he'd wake up with a mess in his pants.

He didn't speak, he didn't say a word, but Nate did, and everything he said was so beautiful to Wade, so perfectly _fake_.

“You're so fucking hot.” Nate said. “You like this?”

Wade nodded. He kissed Nate, and Nate tasted like bad breath first thing in the morning, but Wade loved it anyways. Nate was jerking him off and Wade was _panting_ , and he couldn't tell whether that part was in the dream or not.

“Say something for me, Wade.” Nate said. Wade didn't say anything, but he tried so hard to, he tried to say he wanted Nate to _fuck_ him, hard and fast—and Nate smiled, a beautiful, rugged smile. “That's it, Wade. Keep panting.” He said. “You're gorgeous. You're so gorgeous like this.”

Nate was smiling as he went down on Wade, and all the images of him fucking Wade blended together, and Wade felt something hot inside him. He could feel drool slipping from his mouth, he could feel Nate inside him, and he was _sodamnclose_ —

Then the dream changed completely. Nate was kissing him softly. He was ridiculously beautiful, for an old man. He smelled like home, and waking up on a Sunday morning.

“I love you.” Nate said. “I love you, you beautiful son of a bitch.”

Then Wade woke up, and immediately felt like shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a filthy sinner i just them to fuck even tho theyre like 40 yrs older than me FUCK


	5. cablepool is real.pdf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy BIG tw for phys ableism, a bit of mental ableism  
> also DID!wade from way's run,,, i kno hes never had DID in interactions w/ nate but Imagine  
> idk whn this takes place?? literally almost any time during C/D

Wade was in a Taco Bell when he heard it. ( _A Taco Bell, a fucking_ _ **Taco Bell**_ _, of all places to have a mental breakdown, you chose_ _ **here**_ _._ ) He was waiting in line in civilian clothes and staring at the floor, trying his best not to be noticeable.

“Fuckin' freak.” Someone said. “You ever see someone so goddamn _ugly_?”

They were whispering, but they were also right behind him, and so their conversation was painfully obvious. It wasn't anything he wasn't used to—usually they'd tell a joke or two, then divert their attention to something else, leaving him to be a freaky footnote on their day.

These two were different. “What would you do if you looked like _that_?” One said.

“Probably kill myself.”

“Dude, no, what about like, inner beauty and stuff?”

“I don't have any. And besides--”

Wade clenched his fist and counted to ten.

“-- _Look_ at him. Doesn't seem to be the nicest guy.”

“Poor bastard.”

“More like _bastard_.”

Wade remembered that from somewhere. He could remember being on an operating table, when _they_ had made him _him_ , and he remembered _bastard_ , they'd called him a _bastard._ _Poor bastard_ , they had said, _poor bastard._ Someone was saying something to Wade but he couldn't hear it. ( **You can't hear** _ **anything**_ **right now.** _ **We**_ **can't do** _ **anything**_ **.** ) He thought desperately of ways he could avoid punching someone through the skull. He bit his lip.

“Bodyslide by two.” He whispered.

Then he was in his apartment, and for a second he thought he was in the clear, but he remembered _Nate_ was in his apartment too, and he put on a smile.

“Sorry, needed a quick ride home. Taxis are so _pricey_ these days, y'know?”

Nate was fuming. “Do you _know_ what I was in the _middle of_ before you decided to--”

Wade didn't hear him after that, because he'd ducked into his bedroom and shut the door. The suit was in there—the _mask_ was in there—he'd be _safe_ there, he wouldn't have to fake anything for anyone.

He put the mask on first. He took a deep breath once he had it on, then took his time putting the rest of his stuff on. It was like coming home for the holidays, giving up on life and letting someone (or some _thing_ ) take care of you. He wanted to mold it into himself, to wear it as his skin. He wanted anything other than _his_ skin.

“Wade— _Wade_ , stop ignoring me. _Now_.” Nate said.

Wade opened the door. “S'up?”

Nate frowned. “I told you bodysliding was only for _emergencies_. Life-or-death situations.”

Wade sighed. “I know. It's—It's _complicated_. Won't happen again, K?”

Nate pressed his finger into Wade's chest. “No, it won't, because this means I can't _trust_ you, Wade. I _will_ find a way to separate us, if only to get away from your _recklessness_.”

Wade pushed him. “Stop _freaking out._ If I say it was _important_ , then it _was._ ”

“You can't do this again. You _can't._ Not when I'm _me_.” Nate spat a little when he spoke.

Wade hated being spat on. He'd been spat on his whole life. It was getting _old_. He forgot to smile when he spoke next.

“Well I'm _me_ too, I'm the ugly _bastard_ who has to hear about what a fucking _freak_ he is every time he steps outside, so excuse me if I wanted a fucking _break_.”

Nate paused. “What...?! What do you mean?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“ _Wade_.”

Nate used the tone of voice that meant ' _stop being an asshole for two seconds please_ '. Wade didn't want to argue with that. “It's nothing. Just the usual shit. I overreacted.”

Nate looked confused and— _worried?_ “What's the usual shit?” He said.

Wade narrowed his eyes. “Have you _seen_ me? I look like the shittier end of the shit end of a stick. People _talk_.”

Nate sat on Wade's bed. “How so?”

“Really. You're reallydoing this. Can't we order in, watch a chick flick, get our feelings out the old-fashioned way?”

Nate frowned. Wade sighed and sat down next to him. “I was in a fuckin' _Taco Bell_ \--” ( _sounds even_ _ **stupider**_ _when you say it out loud_ ) “--and some kids started _talking_. I should have been able to handle it but I guess my mental state wasn't at its tippity-top—more so than _usual_ , I mean—and I freaked. Almost punched some lights out. I took the quickest way out I could.”

Nate was looking down at the floor and listening intently. Wade was waiting to be called psycho, or, at least, stared at like one.

“Who called you ugly?” Nate said.

( **Why's he asking that?** )  
( _He's pitying you. Or lying. Or both._ )

“Uh.” Wade said. “Just some kids in the lineup at Taco Bell? Why does it--”

Nate frowned, but not at Wade. “That's disgusting. They should be ashamed of themselves. I should--”

Wade scoffed. “Oh my god, Nate. _Chill_. It's my fault for going cuckoo whenever someone calls the kettle black.”

“They're wrong.” Nate said.

“What? Who's wrong?”

“ _Them_. Whoever said you're ugly.”

( _Liar._ )

( **Yeah, call his bluff.** )

Wade blushed a little. “Um. Are you saying I'm _not_ ugly?”

Nate nodded. “Of course. I'm angry anyone would insinuate otherwise.”

“...Seriously. I _know_ I'm gross. You'd be the millionth person to admit it.”

“Wade, you're beautiful.”

( **Wow. Ok.** )

( _That's. What._ )

“What they said.”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Wade pulled his mask up to smile. “I'm flattered, Summers.” ( **Are you going to make a joke to hide your emotions again?** ) “You've got me blushing like a schoolgirl.” ( _There it is._ )

“I'm merely stating a fact. Beauty is a very relative term—there's no reason it can't apply to you. Anyone who seeks to tell you otherwise is... _Ugly_ , for lack of a better word.” Nate said.

Wade pulled up the mask a little more. “So, what, my mouth and stuff—it doesn't bother you?”

Nate smiled. “Not at all.”

Wade took a deep breath. He hooked his fingers around the edge of his mask

( **What are you doing** **what are you** _ **doing**_ )

( _He's going to_ _see_ _he's going to_ _ **see**_ )

and lifted it off his face. Air on his cheeks felt nice. His skin hurt a little less without the fabric rubbing against it. Part of him was terrified. “Still not ugly?” He said.

Nate was still smiling, and Wade could not think of anything prettier he'd ever seen in his life. “Still beautiful.” Nate said.

Wade punched him in the arm. “ _Shucks_ , Priscilla.” He slumped backwards on his bed. “You got me in bed on the first date.”

Nate looked around the small bedroom. “You sure you want to stay here? There's always room in Providence.”

Wade shook his head. “Nah, here's home. You can bodyslide back if you want though. It's my fault, I should be the one who takes a plane.”

Nate raised a hand to stop him. “No, no, I'll take myself back. I can use my TK. Save yourself the money.”

Wade grinned. “You sure know how to treat your ladies.” He said.

Nate stood up and headed towards Wade's door. “I'll let myself out.” He said. “And as sorry as I am about what happened today—please _don't_ interrupt me again. Not unless you _must_.”

Wade struck a pose and waved. “No probs! Toodaloo, Summers!”

Nate smiled again. “Goodbye, Wade.” He said.

Wade waited to hear his front door open and close before grinning into his pillow.

 


	6. gay moment.pdf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more fluffy shit?? it could be a cont. of the last chapter actually  
> this is smth rly old and unpolished i found on my comp,, enjoy my Shit

Nate and Wade were having another one of what Wade liked to call a _gay moment_. (Nate would laugh, and say, “Are you trying to hide your feelings?” Wade would answer with something that hid his feelings.) Nate was nuzzling his nose into the side of Wade's face, and Wade was smiling into Nate's lips. The sides of his mask came up, and he felt air on his cheeks, and felt a blush creep in afterwards.

 **He's going to see the scars.** Someone said. Wade grabbed Nate's cheeks and pulled him away softly, because they were right, and it terrified him.

“Heey big guy. Not that I'm not loving the _hanky-panky_ , but let's not forget this little _prize_ the Canadian goverment's left on me.” He shifted uncomfortably, but still remembered to smile. “If you wanna stop, I won't blame you.”

Nate furrowed his brow. “Are you uncomfortable?” He asked.

Wade's eyes widened. “Am I uncomfortable?” He repeated.

Nate stared at him. “...Yes?”

“Why would _I_ be _uncomfortable?_ ”

“...Why _else_ would you want to stop?”

_“Because I look like the bottom-end of a table coated in bubble-gum?”_

Nate smiled, and it made Wade's insides melt like chocolate. “Are you actually afraid I'm going to think you're _ugly?_ ” Nate said.

“You're saying that like I'm wrong.”

“ _Wade._ You're beautiful.”

 _He's lying._ Someone said.

“Are you lying?” Wade said.

“Have I lied to you befor— _don't answer that_.” Nate said. He took Wade's hands in his. “I'm sorry if I haven't been trustworthy or... _Kind_ , or anything else that I wish I was.” Nate smiled and kissed Wade on the forehead. “I would love to make it up to you, if I can.”  
Wade jerked his hand free. He turned around, whisper-screamed into his fist, and turned back around very visibly flustered. “You have got my _complete permission_ to do _whatever you want_ , Mr. _Sports Illustrated._ ”

Nate laughed and cupped Wade's face. “You wanna take this to my bedroom?” He said.

Wade giggled. “You ever see Brokeback Mountain? There's a certain cowboy in it who reminds me of you...” He dragged Nate by the arm as he spoke. “Wanna go for a _ride_?” He winked as the door to Nate's bedroom closed behind them, and Nate's soft chuckle could be heard from the hallway.

 

 


	7. nate is Done.pdf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bleh i wrote this as practice so its really gross + bad  
> also i tried to write autistic nate summers but?? i probably fucked it up somehow. any autistic readers who wanna roast my ass are welcome to

Nate tied his tie ( _say that ten times fast_ , Wade would have said) in the middle of a crowded restaurant. It took him a few tries, because he'd forgotten how to. People were staring at him. He hid his left hand under the table. They kept staring. He closed his left eye. Still they stared. He heard the restaurant's front door open and close.

Domino was wearing a long black evening gown, with a cut up the bottom of one side, revealing her left leg. Nate forgot the humans were there.

She sauntered over to him. “This isn't like us, Nate. A little stuffy, don't you think?”

He blushed a little. “I didn't think an assassination would be appropriate for Valentine's day.” He said.

She giggled. That meant he was doing well. He cracked a smile.

“True, true.” She said. “Sorry if I sounded like a bitch. This is _nice_ , just not...”

“Me.”

“Exactly.”

She hailed a waiter over. Nate shifted in his seat uncomfortably. This _wasn't_ him, but it was making her _happy_ , so he thought he might as well endure it. She leaned over to him.

“What do you want?” She said.

“Hm? Oh. Order for me.” People were staring at them again. Maybe with a little telepathy he could—

“The 'sapes are staring at us.” Dom whispered, with her devilish grin.

Nate looked up at her. “Want to do something about it?”

“Not _here_ , but maybe we could take some of them out back...”

“Wait, really? I didn't mean—”

“Oh my god, _kidding_.” She said, stifling a laugh. “It's nice to see you, Nate. _You_ you. Not obsessed-with-saving-the-world-and-maybe-ruling-it you.”

He tried to smile back at her. “Yeah.” He couldn't think of anything else to say—'me too' would have been a lie. Every second he wasn't sacrificing himself made guilt thicken in his stomach.

“Yeah?” She repeated.

“I—Yeah. I don't know. It's nice to see you. I'm glad to see you.” It sounded forced.

She frowned. “You ok, big guy?”

“I'm fine.” He didn't consider that lying—just omission of the truth.

A waiter brought their food. She'd gotten him a steak. He hated steak, but he didn't say anything about it. Dom started on hers.

“So what's up with you?” She said.

“Saving the world. Normal stuff.” He didn't touch his food.

“Not a fan of steak?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Want me to send it back?”

“No. This is fine.”

She had a few more bites, then studied him for a second. “You're doing that _thing_.” She said.

He blushed. “What? What thing?”

“The thing where you don't let yourself have fun.”

He stared at his plate. “I don't do that.” He said.

She smiled. “When _don't_ you do that, Nate?”

He looked away from her. “Are you enjoying your meal?” He said.

“You're changing the subject.”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “You'd be really _fun_ if you weren't such a stick-in-the-mud.”

“I'm sorry, I—I don't want to make you mad. I'm not good at...”

“Chat?”

“ _Yes_.”

She finished off her meal. “You better find someone who hates acting like a human being as much as you do, Nate Summers.” She said, as though it were a fact, waving at their waiter for the check.

“I'm sorry, Dom.”

“Don't be. I had fun.”

“I feel like I've made a mistake.”

She wrote the check. “You haven't. You're just _really_ good at killing the mood.” She stood up and kissed him on the cheek. “Happy Valentines day, Nate.” She said—though Nate did not feel very happy, not at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Nate walked back to his headquarters with his feet dragging. He took his time winding through the streets, reminding himself who he was doing this for. Why it was worth it. He returned to his HQ with Domino cemented in his brain, and listing all the things he could've done _right_ that evening.

The halls were empty. That meant Wade was asleep, and Nate breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't have the energy for him just then. Light shined out from under his bedroom door. He didn't remember forgetting to turn the lights off before he left, but he didn't think anything of it.

He opened the door and winced. Party streamers went off, and Wade yelled “ _Happy Single's Awareness Day, Summers!_ ”

Nate's eyes narrowed. “Not now, Wade. I had a bad night.”

Wade smiled up at him anyways. “Aw, but you're gonna miss the cake!”

Nate's vision steadied. There were heart-shaped balloons and pink streamers across the room. Wade was wearing a party hat covered in hearts with the words STUD MUFFIN written on it.

Nate smiled, despite himself. “You made cake?” He said.

Wade pointed to a table he'd gotten from god-knows-where, and a heart-shaped cake lying neatly on top. “ _Made_ it myself, too. Not any of that _store-bought_ shit.” He said, as though it were a huge accomplishment.

“Thanks, Wade. I appreciate it, but I should be getting to bed.”

Wade raised his hands to stop him. “Uh, actually, there's something else too.” Wade pulled his mask off for this, and Nate knew that meant it was serious. He reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a check. “I wanted to donate some of my spare cash to... _You_ , I guess. However many charities you've got running.”

Nate took the check—he saw three zeros, and looked up at Wade. “Wade, this is quite a bit more than 'spare cash'. Are you sure about this?”

Wade smiled, and his scars crinkled. Nate thought he looked like a puppy. “Yeah. Why not. Us singles gotta look out for each other, right?”

Nate placed the check on his dresser and looked over Wade's shoulder. “What flavor's the cake?” He said.

Wade grinned. “Chocolate.”

“Could I have a slice?”

Wade swooned. “But of _course_ , Mr. Summers.”

They spent the evening chewing on chocolate and telling terrible jokes, perfectly happy with refusing to act like normal people.

 


End file.
